The Obstacle Is the Way

March 2026

“This obstacle – this frustrating, unfortunate, problematic, unexpected problem preventing you from doing what you want to do …. What if it wasn’t so bad?”

Ryan Holiday, in his 2025 book about the ancient philosophy of Stoicism, poses this question.  The adjectives strike me, one after the other … Frustrating, unfortunate, problematic, unexpected, and preventing me from doing what I wanted to do … I couldn’t come up with a better description of my first weeks with my new students at the women’s college in Abu Dhabi.

What did I want to do? I wanted to teach in the same way I’d taught for the past 20 years. To connect with students as I’d enjoyed doing since 1990. When confronted with students who didn’t want what I wanted, I was stymied. When my perfectly pleasing and appealing personality was less than appealing to them, I felt rejected and threatened. I shifted into resentment and indignation. How dare they? Why don’t they? What’s happening?

“What if embedded inside of or inherent in [the obstacle] were certain benefits – benefits only for you,” Holiday asks.

Dragging home with my tail between my legs each night, Philip met me with gentle support, sweet tropical fruit, and a similar question.

“What if this mess is an opportunity?”

“An opportunity? To do what? Lose every ounce of confidence and enthusiasm I possess? I hate going there. Hate the skirmishes. Their indifference hurts my feelings. What’s the opportunity?”

Philip had picked up a little book from the college library, a place he was allowed to enter only after the students had all gone home for the day. (A man must not roam freely amongst female students in an Islamic country or college.) Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, the ancient emperor of Rome in A.D. 161, named the virtues of patience, courage, humility, etc., as the way to right living. Philip suggested I choose a virtue a day.

“On Monday, walk into your chaotic classrooms with the word patience on your tongue. Practice patience. Be patient. Even pretend patience!”

In the cacophony and havoc my students inhabited, I could embody patience … emanate patience. Or, if nothing else, pretend patience. (In the spirit of wisdom teachers, when feeling lost in the desert and without faith, pilgrims are advised to put themselves in the position of prayer. Take the physical posture and look to the body’s muscle memory for a reminder of spirit. In common parlance, fake it ‘til you make it.)

So, starting when my hand met the classroom doorknob, and as I wrote the day’s plan on the board, opened a textbook, and finally stood silently waiting to be noticed at the front of a room full of noise and inattention, I quietly intoned, Put yourself in the position of patience.

“On Tuesday, try courage. Be humble on Wednesday. Resourceful on Thursday,” Philip coaxed.

I tried it. I wrote the word on the whiteboard at the start of class, handing out colored pens to students to embellish it with their surprising flair for creativity.

What happened beyond the first moments? What changed?

Being patient meant not doing what I wanted. It meant surrender. Time lost. More noise than I liked. Less work accomplished. Less attention paid to me. Being patient bled (sometimes painfully) into the virtues of courage and humility. It was scary to let go of control (courage needed). Frightening to discover I was not the master teacher I’d prided myself on for twenty+ years. Nor was I that important (humility required). My students preferred their company to mine. They chatted through my creatively designed lesson plans. Unlike previous teaching experiences, I was not the star of the show.

Until this happened, I hadn’t realized how much my satisfaction as a teacher stemmed from my students’ attention and adoration. I never realized I was feeding my ego while feeding grammar to my students. Humbling indeed!

Courage. You don’t need it … until you do. You need it when fear takes hold. When your worldview and identity are threatened, when what has worked no longer does, and you are faced with your lack and uncertainty. Courage conjures images of warriors charging into battle, swords flashing. In the course of a teacher’s day, courage looks less spectacular, less heroic. The simple act of entering a room, of proceeding to the safety of the teacher’s desk, and coming out from behind that desk to front 15 young women veiled and robed in black … this, too, requires enormous courage. Or it did for me.

The word courage comes from the Latin word cor, which literally means heart. In Abu Dhabi, to put myself in the position of courage didn’t mean brandishing my sword. On the contrary, it meant putting that sword (defenses, vulnerabilities, and fears) down. It was a retreat from the battlefield, a return to the heart. When I softened, my students followed me. Laughter and play grew from affection and care. At first, tenderness was hard to conjure when I wasn’t sure I’d be received. Courage. Heart. I needed them more than ever before.

 “Let them see who you are. Be the generous and courageous human being I know. They will love you, as I do,” Philip said as he left me at the college on Tuesday, Courage Day.

What happened on Courage Day? What changed?

The students responded to my courage to adapt and follow their lead. The veils dropped, both literally and metaphorically. The generous and playful spirits of these young women shone from their eyes and in their laughter. Connection happened.

I could go on through all the virtues, but I think you get the point. Bringing my better self to the room, invited the best from my students. Not immediately. Not all the time. Not without a good bit of teeth gritting. I needed the courage to be courageous! The patience to be patient. Humility to be humble even when, especially when, I couldn’t see the virtues working.

And Philip? He listened, cajoled, and celebrated little victories. He confronted my every failure, my every slide backward. Honest to a fault, he was both outspoken and kind, unreserved and openhearted. Supporting, guiding, forgiving, and encouraging, he picked me up, dusted me off, and sent me back into the fray. Day after Abu Dhabi day, life was hard and sweet. It wasn’t always so bad. Then and now, it benefited me.

As my students said when there was something to be grateful for … Alhamdulillha!                     

P.S. As I (finally!) move toward publication of An Unintended Pilgrimage: An Abu Dhabi Memoir, I am going to try to whet your appetite for the book with related blog posts. I hope you enjoyed this one.